


Kinesis

by Anonymous



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angra Mainyu kills from the outside in. Emiya still has something to live for, and Kotomine has a talent for healing.</p>
<p>(Kirei, Kiritsugu, and the interim years)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinesis

**Author's Note:**

> 綺礼 homophone for 綺麗 kirei, _beautiful_  
>  切嗣 kiri-tsugu, _to separate / to extend_

 

* * *

 

_Autumn, 1995_

 

* * *

 

In the first days Kiritsugu senses, rather than feels, the senescence of cells: a slow poisoning as distended leukocytes rupture and dump their contents into sluggish veins. Beneath the surface of his skin, something dark and blunt claws at muscle and tendon for want of pain.

The heels of his hands lose feeling first. He discovers this abruptly one day when, practicing kendo in the training room, he misjudges a transfer of weight—he doesn’t notice until much later the bruises that bloom in a long dark line on the underside of his forearm.

In his dreams Iri’s hair is still silver that is almost white, but her dress is red the colour of her eyes and the curve of her smile not quite right. He holds her and the vessel’s skin breaks and tears away from brittle bone, disintegrates beneath his hands into chunks of flesh in thin blood that roils to black mud.

Even during this fate, she does everything she can to reassure him.  _I’ll always be here, Kiri. As long as the Grail exists, I will be here..._

Her face twists in pain under his hands.

Kiritsugu wakes with his breath caught in his throat and a heady pressure against the inside of his forehead. In the moonlight that falls in a narrow strip across one arm, he observes a dark streak surface beneath the skin, then subside back into deep flesh.

The next morning he sees Shirou to the gate and waves goodbye as always, although he can only guess at the location of the boy’s departing silhouette. Beneath skin and worn muscle, the black mud calls out somewhere far beyond the wind. It tugs at a downward angle on something in his chest, and Kiritsugu lets it lead him.

He walks out of his house and down the path that leads into the heart of the district. Miyama’s streets are silent in mid-morning, but the sound of his footsteps are lost in the expanse of the open air. Far in the distance, the Ryuudouji temple rises above the rest of the town skyline. Kiritsugu passes the shopping district; the Matou grounds, large swathes of property fallen derelict; and arrives at the Mion Bridge. A sensation of loss twinges through his magic circuits as he steps over the invisible line that borders Miyama town and which separates it from Shinto.

The city is different now, but no matter what path he takes, it will always lead him to the same place. Kiritsugu steps off the Shinto roads and into the Fuyuki forest, where he walks blind through the remains of the conflagration. The path is made of old soil through which blood and crushed bones have leached, and his footsteps move as if of their own accord, tracing the scent of despair. He had probably passed this way before, that night of the fire, but if he has, then he cannot remember it. This cluster of trees, where he had found Shirou—he will always recognise this place, even if it is the black mud that must show him the way.

Far away, there is a sound of thunder in the sky.

A long time ago, he and Iri and Ilya had spent a lot of time out in the forested grounds of the Einsbern estate. But—whether it was because they had always been sheltered, or because of some natural susceptibility—neither of them had taken very well to getting caught outside when the elements decided to strike. Even now, the notion of ‘impending rain’ is strongly associated with the notion of ‘going home’.

As Kiritsugu turns his now weary footsteps back in the direction of Miyama, the air seems thick with sadness and the things-that-must-pass that he cannot name.

The long walk that follows is not unlike many he has taken before, with Iri or Ilya as they would make their way from the outskirts of the grounds back to the Einsbern castle. The same level and winding paths, the same tangle of bare and anonymous trees, only this time they are not white, but grey. Only this time, he is alone.

It is only when he next looks around to get his bearings that he realises he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Judging by the smooth roads and tall buildings, he is still in some part of Shinto, but the Mion River is nowhere in sight. The sky is dark with clouds or the shadow of evening, and the edifice that looms up before him is towering cold stone, crowned with the symbol for sacrifice of a God he has never cared to believe in.

Kiritsugu has been here only once in his life, and then only stayed long enough to plant several tons of explosive around the premises. But he knows the location well from countless surveillance photographs and tapes. Is this where the mud has led him? There is evil in this place now: a congregation of those who suffered without purpose, and black fire that had flooded the world.

The mud keens deep beneath his skin, low and ecstatic.  _Like. It is—like_. It splinters through him like El-Melloi’s quicksilver. Someone, he cannot remember who, once said that one will always hate the things which are similar to oneself.

He should have died, that day—

As the first drops of rain begin to fall, the thunder sounds again in the edgeless sky.

The mud has led him not home but to the Grail’s resting place, to the core of the lightless and to her, to her, to her. The last bastion of strength leaves him suddenly, and Emiya Kiritsugu collapses with a sickening finality upon the doorstep of the Fuyuki Church.

 

* * *

 

 

Kirei will not say that he dislikes rain. If it is only for the sake of shelter, during bad weather, people are more willing to forcibly admit themselves to the house of God than to continue wandering about in the streets outside.

So Kirei will not say that he dislikes rain-- as long as it stays out of his clothes and his hair, because it is rather unpleasant to do just about anything with lukewarm dripping fabric impeding all his movements.

Preoccupied with shaking out his umbrella as he steps under the overhanging roof and out of the rain, Kirei almost walks into a bundle of what looks like a person curled up in front of the double doors of the Church. It is not an unusual sight: there are many homeless who come to the Church seeking shelter for a night, especially now that the days are growing steadily colder. Actually, the Ryuudouji temple is actually much more welcoming and happy to assist with this sort of thing,  but this is one of those instances where proximity to the producer matters more than the quality of the service.

Kirei sets down his open umbrella against the wall and nudges the body slightly with the side of one shoe. The figure shifts slightly in response—whether from the contact or from its own volition, Kirei cannot quite tell. In the movement, the collar of the coat obscuring the man’s features falls aside, and Kirei finds himself face to face with the unconscious image of Emiya Kiritsugu.

...

It is difficult to make out details in this poor lighting, but there is no doubt in Kirei’s mind. The last time he had seen this man, it had been in the middle of a great fire that was likely to kill one or both of them, and yet they passed by each other without so much as a word.

Kirei supposes he has encountered stranger things. Nevertheless, as a servant of God, he has a job to do.

He picks up Emiya’s body—the surface of the man’s coat is damp with rain, and Kirei can feel it soak into his collar against the back of his neck as he unlocks and pulls open the large double doors that lead into the sanctuary. He adjusts the sling of Emiya’s arm across his shoulders, so that most of the deadweight falls along his side, and steps over the threshold into the Church and leaves the sound of the rain outside. As he walks further into the sanctuary, his footstep echo, as they often will in places like this. This place, where so many things in the Fourth War had come to pass— and now he, holding the body of the one who had been his enemy...

Kirei sets his burden down on one of the pews in the back row nearest the door, and lays two fingers against the side of Emiya’s neck to check for a pulse. The surface of Emiya’s skin is also cold and damp with rain.

The connection of magical circuits sparks the cleric’s empathic spells that for very long had lain dormant in a dusty place in Kirei’s mind. There are many dead and dying things in Emiya’s heart: prominent among them white hair, red eyes, black light streaked with rusted gold. The once-towering structures of grandiose ideals and purpose and belief, now crumbled in the remains of the great fire that had burned down the entire world.

There is also pain, long and silent and deep, and Kirei lets the secondhand sensation wash over him with quiet relish.

And, something else—

Even here among the ruins, there is something that still wants to live. It is small yet adamant, and takes the shape of a young boy with red hair and an innocent face. That is the thing in Emiya Kiritsugu that, despite suffering, still clings to this meagre existence.

And so, and then, and therefore... Kirei is fairly skilled in almost all walks of thaumaturgy, but in some cosmic joke, the only real gift that God had seen fit to give him had been the talent of healing.  _You will do no harm._ The staff of Asclepius that his mentor had given him at the end of his training—it still hangs in the crypt where he keeps the children’s bodies. The King of Heroes is unrepentantly appreciative.

By the same methods, he manages to transfer Emiya to the makeshift infirmary one level below. Judging from the condition of Emiya’s body and the pallor of his skin, Angra Mainyu has been hard at work, and Kirei is not quite sure how the man is still alive. Although he can’t tell much from this surface level, It seems to have something to do with the permutation and conductivity of the Emiya family’s magic circuits that interacts strangely with the black mud.

Kirei had not thought he would have the occasion to use magecraft again, aside from the spells necessary for the rituals that sustained the King of Heroes’ life and, by extension, his own. Nevertheless, he is glad that he has prepared for all eventualities: the necessary spell components lie in an unassuming chest of drawers in the underground infirmary and the incantations in a corresponding filecabinet somewhere in the corridors of his mind.

He collects the necessary things, taking as much care as he had prepared for the Servant-summoning ritual, and the familiar spell of mending flares under his hands.

 

* * *

 

 

_The Fuyuki fire still burns, but it is somehow muted, as if it is a hologram or happening somewhere far away. It is like a moment frozen in time: Kirei, in the heart of the forest, the King of Heroes an unmoving figure at his side. In the distance, Emiya approaches, then passes them like they aren’t even there._

_Kirei sees the figure of Emiya wander a distance, then stop by a cluster of trees in a clearing. The figure crouches, suddenly, and as the shadow falls across his tear-streaked face, the boy’s eyes open, and look wonderingly up at his saviour._

_As Kirei looks upon the conflagration, the fire burns itself lower and lower until it is finally gone._

_In the distance, at the far reaches of his vision, there is still the image of Emiya, carrying the child away from the soil and the broken trees._

_... Even now, this man will show only his back to the world._

_As the man and the child leave the last of the ruins behind, a gentle rain begins to fall._

 

* * *

 

 

It is done, at least as best as Kirei knows how. He extracts the last of himself from the tangled network of neural activity, and wills the spell to subside down to nothing.

As the circuit breaks, Emiya’s eyes jolt open. A look of recognition passes over his face as he registers Kirei’s presence, but there is no malice in his expression, only long and bone deep exhaustion. It has etched itself into his forehead and around his eyes— barely recognizable now that they are not narrowed in grim concentration.

A spasm runs the length of Emiya’s body, and he reaches out in Kirei’s direction for something Kirei can’t see. “Iri...”

His fingers lodge around the black fabric over Kirei’s heart.

Somewhere in that large pulmonary vein, Angra Mainyu keens low in response.

Kirei waits. One not-heartbeat, and then another. Emiya’s arm falls back against his side, and his eyes seem to focus once again on Kirei’s face. “It’s peaceful here,” he says. If there is a meaning to the words, Kirei cannot quite discern it.

“You passed out from exhaustion,” Kirei lets his fingertips linger just beneath Emiya’s jawbone under the guise of taking a pulse. “It is fortunate that you came here. The hospitals would not have known what to do.”

Even in this close proximity Emiya’s waking emotions are indistinct, as if hidden behind a wall of frosted glass—by all accounts strange, for someone who has just had a near-death experience. Although most of his patients had been civilians, and not magus assassins self-trained in psychological warfare.

“Thank you for your assistance.” Emiya's rejoinder is polite

They are no longer enemies now, so he retreats to professionalism instead. “I have repaired most of the damage. The curse will be held back, but only for a time.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know,” Kirei says honestly. Angra Mainyu is at best a wild and unpredictable thing. “But, knowing your current condition—do you really want to live?”

For a long second, Emiya considers that. “You already chose for me, when you decided to save my life.”

...

While waiting for a response, Emiya looks away—a casual observer might say that he is taking in his surroundings, but Kirei notices that his eyes seem to alight upon a particular direction, somewhere to the left of the corner where two walls meet. There are no windows in this underground space. Emiya does not know it, but that way lies the house in which he lives now. It is as if Emiya has an internal compass that will always direct him toward the thing he cares about.

“I think I should go,” Emiya says after a time, and cautiously gets to his feet. Kirei offers a hand, which is refused.

As they return aboveground to the sanctuary— Emiya staggering a little on the high stone stairs— Kirei notices that the sound of the rain outside has eased. Emiya turns to him. “Thank you for your hospitality—I wish I could stay, but Shirou will wonder,” he says, by way of farewell.

This sudden collegiality is, if not unnerving, then at least strange, considering that they have intended to kill each other for at least a year. But then Kirei suddenly realises that he has seen this before, on several occasions during his long travels: the attempted presentation of a coherent image to society at large, one of polite consideration and courtesy, while the fragmented self is locked away. It is a self-preservation instinct that avoids unwanted attention, but somewhere, beneath the sheets of frosted glass like ice—

It was always fascinating to see them gradually unravel as the mind relinquishes control to the blood.

… Or perhaps it does not exist at all, and all he is sensing is the reflection of his own mental state.

Emiya shrugs on the coat that had still hung, damp, across the back of the pew where Kirei had left it. Kirei sees him to the end of the walkway and offers him the umbrella still lying outside, and this time, he accepts.

 

* * *

 

 

Watching the familiar image of Emiya’s departing back, Kirei thinks.

For three years he had worked tirelessly in the effort to discern the truth in one man’s heart, and even now, having been thoroughly disillusioned with what he had found there— he is curious.

Since the encounter with the homunculus and Hisau Maiya that day in the woods, Kirei had thought that his pursuit of truth in Emiya Kiritsugu had utterly failed. He had thought that he would never find the answers he sought in the body of a man who lived for something bigger than himself—who could be understood by others, and who fundamentally hated and felt sorrow at suffering in the world. In other words, a man who was human in the ways that Kirei himself had tried and always failed to be.

During the fire, he had grasped the answer that he has been seeking all this time. But even that answer had only led to more questions. Even if he is one day able to revive the root of all evil and ask it, face to face, how the contradiction can be resolved—can he truly be satisfied with what he finds?

The end of the Fourth War changed many things. Even as Kirei found what he was looking for, so did Emiya lose it—the rules by which he lived his life, and the purpose and belief for which he is fighting. To act as he does now— Emiya must also be looking for a way to resolve a contradiction of his own.

Kirei has given up seeking empathy or enlightenment from the dogs that take scraps from the table, but perhaps there are still dregs left in the cup that runneth over.

There are still answers to be gotten from Emiya Kiritsugu, no longer magus killer.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **1.** Kiritsugu’s route - based on the Fuyuki map, from the Emiya residence it’s ~1h to the Matous, same from there to the Mion River, then to the middle of Shinto, then to reach the Church. Give or take some time for wandering.
> 
> **2.** Kirei’s ‘contradiction’ – from the LNs, his thoughts about good, evil, truth and happiness:  
>  _“If God is the Creator of All Things, then to all souls, ‘happiness’ is truth. But now, there truly existed a soul that had turned its back on morality and yet obtained happiness. Kirei had also only just begun to believe that this soul was no one else but himself. In that case, the definition of good and evil, as well as the very existence of truth, had created a contradiction. This contradiction could not be overlooked.”_ (Vol 4 Act 16) 
> 
> **3.** No more Kiritsugu POV from here on
> 
> Feedback (including concrit) appreciated


End file.
